Today, sweetheart, you are.
She closed her eyes.
Okay. Today she was.
Oh, how Skeet hated the jungle.
The humid air pressed against his skin like wet wool, thick enough to chew, ripe with the competing odors of decay and the cloying scent of night-blooming flowers.
And in the darkness, everything moved.
Two-thirty a.m. The time of night when people got eaten.
Skeet moved along the perimeter in a wide arc, weapon ready but not raised. Behind him, firelight filtered through ancient trees where Chloe slept. The image of her face—finally peaceful after a crazy, terrorized day—kept intruding on his tactical awareness.
Stop.
Focus on the mission.
On his last spin through camp, he’d glanced at her. Her hair had fallen across her cheek, and for a moment she’d looked almost vulnerable.
And of course the feel of her in his arms had slammed into him, and he’d had to look away, keep walking.
What was his problem? Chloe Silver was sort of off-limits, given his ties to her family.
Sort of.
Aw,all dangerous thinking.
He paused beside a massive teak tree, scanning the darkness beyond their perimeter. The jungle sounds, the humid air, the way shadows shifted in patterns and stirred memories...
Stop.
Too late.
The past surrounded him—Operation Sanctuary. Joint SEAL/CIA rescue of a captured American journalist, a diplomatand three aid workers from a Tatmadaw military compound. Point man and medic leading a six-man team through terrain just like this. The thick jungle. Oppressive humidity. The constant buzz of insects drilling into his brain.
And Narin?—
A branch snapped somewhere to his left—too heavy for a monkey, too deliberate for wind.
Skeet forced the memory down and froze.
Something large padded through the undergrowth fifty meters out.
The sounds stopped. Whatever it was had caught his scent or spotted their camp. The silence stretched, filled only with the whisper of wind through leaves and the distant chatter of water over stones.
Then movement again, circling their position. Testing.
Leopard, most likely. The predator was curious about their fire, probably checking whether they’d left food scraps around the perimeter. Not necessarily dangerous unless cornered or protecting cubs.
Still.He moved closer to the sound, angling to get visual confirmation without spooking the animal into becoming violent. Through the trees, golden eyes reflected what little firelight penetrated this far.
The hairs rose on the back of his neck. He stared, heart in his throat, until the eyes blinked out. Paws padded away through dry leaves, heading deeper into the jungle.
He let out a coiled breath.
“You’re getting sloppy.”